


Dark Heart, Pure Heart

by AlexeCinz



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Gency Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29343510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexeCinz/pseuds/AlexeCinz
Summary: A short fantasy fairytale reminiscent of Neil Gaiman's 'Stardust'. A raptor searching for pure souls finds something unusual and rare. But who is the hunter and who is the prey?A fic/pic combo originally written for Gency Week 2018, Days 2 & 3.
Relationships: Genji Shimada/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Kudos: 10





	Dark Heart, Pure Heart

He is a servant of the Dark; for how long, and what his old life was, he has forgotten.

Sometimes as he flies, the twang of a bowstring startles him. It is an empty threat - no arrow can harm him now. His masters have made him invulnerable to mortal weapons. Indeed, he is an _immortal_ weapon, sent out when lesser servants have failed to bring back the pure hearts that feed the Reaper and the Wraith.

Pure hearts are growing harder to find. In this age, the predators are many and the pickings are few. Even children have grown too knowing, copying the worldly ways of their elders. Night after night his masters scream with hunger as each heart proves to have a rotten core.

_But there is a way,_ the Wraith had whispered to him, _even in this corrupted age. Even a stale heart can grow a pure seed if harvested at the right time. Find us prey at their most unguarded moments: A dreaming maiden, a grandfather cradling his grandson. A craftsman intent on creating a thing of beauty. A bride._

The rain comes down in sheets, drowning most sound. Yet he hears the sound of rejoicing and flies towards it. Keener than any human ear, voices even within the castle are sharp to him. A wedding is taking place tonight; Duke Gerard will wed the Lady Amelie. He remains aloft for a few minutes beside the parapet, then settles down beside a gargoyle. The main chamber is where the bride is being adorned before the ceremony.

He spreads his wings with a snap and glides to the main keep. His smile is grim. It hasn’t taken him long to find his target tonight. But the green flare in his eyes suddenly turns a dull red. Beyond the large balcony, she stands in a white and gold dress. Maids fuss over her, and she snaps her fingers for them to adjust her veil. Her smile is elegant, but he knows at a glance that the Lady Amelie is a hollow sculpture. Her heart is already dead.

He feels a pang of disgust, more for himself than for her, and does not know why. He also feels fear at the thought of failing in his mission. He has never yet failed. But he knows the punishment for those who do.

A voice. He can hear a young woman speaking far away, calm and melodious. He focuses, pushing through the drunken burble of wedding guests and the idle prattling of servants. As he hones in on the voice, gossamer threads of thoughts surrounding her also grow in resonance. _In recent years few have seen the Duke’s sister Angela because of her long illness, but her kindness and generosity are renowned. She remains confined to the West Tower even on this night of festivity._ Without realising, he has already taken flight towards her chamber.

So focused is he that he becomes careless. He is a raptor silhouetted against the moon, uncaring of the gasps of soldiers below. He can already pick up her golden aura, her alluring scent. This is a heart that he has never before encountered, a heart more pure and powerful than he imagined could exist. With sudden terror he wonders what it will be like to pluck it out and surrender it to his masters. Does he even have the will not to keep it for himself?

At the lone window of the West Tower, he forgets to fly, forgets to breathe. She is there, perched on the sill, half in shadow but luminous all the same. She is waiting for him.

“I have come to take your Heart.” He falters, his rain-soaked wings feeling like lead. “I will be swift. It… it will not hurt.”

She smiles and reaches out. “No. You have come to give me yours.”


End file.
